Broken Roots
by iamthelie
Summary: Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth. Third installment, following Lost Pretense and Tarnished Haven.
1. Seeds of Discord

**Broken Roots**  
******Chapter One: Seeds of Discord**  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 2,087  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth. Third installment, following Lost Pretense and Tarnished Haven.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **So I had grand plans. They didn't really work out. And I missed the Crossing Jordan world. I'm also insane, but that's not much of a surprise.

**

* * *

**

**Seeds of Discord**

She didn't always wake when he did. She could be a pretty heavy sleeper, and they didn't share a bed. Still, she knew when he'd woken in the middle of the night and when he didn't go to bed at all. This was one of those nights. He had migrated to her window again. The opaque texture didn't really leave much of a view, but it wasn't about that. He wasn't looking out the window. He was looking somewhere deep inside himself, and wherever that was, it was dark and full of pain.

Jordan slipped out of the bed and went to his side. "Woody?"

His eyes closed with a wince. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Maybe you should have," she told him, touching his arm. When he didn't pull away, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Nightmare?"

"That is too kind a word for it," he muttered. He did pull away then, leaving the room. She sighed and followed him. She had a feeling that they were going to fight again. She didn't want to, but almost anything that she did set him off these days. Things were tense since they'd come back from Haven. She knew that he'd agreed to come back with her, but she suspected that he had regretted it the moment that he did.

She cursed as she saw him at the counter, pouring himself a glass of scotch. She doubted it was his first for the night. He had been drinking heavily during the last three weeks. And it was getting worse.

"How many have you had tonight?" she asked. She knew that he'd be pissed, but she had to ask. She couldn't ignore it. It had gone on for too long already.

"Don't start, Jordan," he warned, tossing it back. He didn't even react to the burn, just poured another. Whatever was eating at him was bad. Really bad.

"Woody, please," she began, putting a hand on his arm before he could get _another _refill. He jerked away from her. She caught the look in his eyes and swallowed hard. He _scared _her when he was like this. She knew that he wouldn't hurt her. But he _would _hurt himself. He _wanted _to hurt himself.

"Stay away from me," he told her harshly. He was backing away from her like a caged animal. Damn it. If she pushed any further, he'd bolt.

"Fine," she said. She wouldn't let him keep doing this. She grabbed the bottle and took it into the bathroom. She dumped it out in the sink. She knew it wouldn't stop him for very long. If he wanted to continue destroying himself, he would.

She didn't know how to help him. Maybe no one could. He had been fighting this battle for so long, and he was losing it badly. What he needed was therapy, but he would never agree to it. She knew that he wouldn't. He didn't trust anyone, and without trust, no therapy would work, he would never get over this.

_Somethings you don't get over, _Lily had told her, not too long ago, when Jordan had gone to her, needing to vent her frustration to a friend. _And you have to accept that. Woody will never completely let go of this. It defines him. It made him who he was, continues to make him who he is._

_I just wish he'd talk to me, _Jordan had finally admitted. She had started crying then, of all times, and Lily held her as she did. It had fortified her, for a while, but as time went on, and Woody continued his dangerous cycle, she was losing hope again.

She left the bathroom and went back into the kitchen. Woody had gone to the couch, sitting with his arms propped on his knees and his head on his arms. She sat down next to him. She made no move to touch him. He would not let her, and she knew it.

"I want to help, you know," she said softly.

"You think you're helping?" he demanded angrily. "You're not. Stay out of it, Jordan. I agreed to come back here. I didn't agree to anything else. I definitely didn't agree to you telling me what to do."

"Woody," she began, but he stood abruptly. Damn, he really was leaving. "Don't. Please."

He pulled on his coat. "Stop asking me to stay. It only makes me want to leave more."

* * *

"Ooh, I know that look," Nigel began as Jordan walked into the morgue. He winced in sympathy. "And that is _not _a good look."

She shook her head and dumped her stuff on her desk. He couldn't help but watch her. This was bad. It was more than the look, the lines under her eyes, and the slow movements laced with obvious fatigue. She was worn out, in body and soul. He had to wonder if it would have been better if they never found Woody again. Jordan would still have a gaping hole in her heart, but that seemed preferable to one that was constantly bleeding from each new abuse Woody dealt when he lashed out at her.

"What happened this time, love?" Nigel asked, leaning against the door frame. She collapsed into the chair and sighed loudly.

"He's not sleeping. He's drinking. A lot. And he's so damn touchy..."

Nigel digested this for a minute. It wasn't anything new, then. Woody had been like this since they returned from Haven. Jordan never should have asked him to come back. He wasn't ready. "Has he talked to Calvin?"

"No," Jordan rubbed her temples. "Cal may be in detox, but Woody's of the opinion that once an addict, always an addict. And Cal's done a lot to prove that to Woody. I don't think he will speak to Cal again if he can help it."

"That may be, love," Nigel agreed sadly. "But he's not going to do any better until he does."

"I've tried to tell him that. Cal tried to kill him, Nige. He's not going to talk to him," Jordan said. "Besides, I think that accusation really shook him."

"You mean the one where Woody supposedly killed his father?" Nigel shook his head. He didn't buy into _that _conspiracy theory. He was known to believe in the supernatural and the uncanny, had an affection for the unexplained, but not this. Woody had not orchestrated his father's murder, even if the man had abused him. What Woody's father had done was unforgivable, but Woody was not a murderer.

"Yeah, that," Jordan lowered her head onto the desk. She hit her keys and cursed. "I think that's why he can't sleep. It got to him. He has doubts."

"While I understand that there are still gaps in his memory that he may never recover, it is absurd to think that means he killed his father," Nigel protested. He crossed the room to her, rubbing her shoulder a bit. She was tense. Something had to be done. "Okay, love, here's a thought. The whole thing is a matter of public record, isn't it? Woody could get the files to satisfy his piece of mind. We can even have a Murder Night and solve the case for him, if we need to. No loose ends. No conspiracies."

"What conspiracy?" Dr. M demanded from the doorway. "Nigel, if this is about that body that they found in the Charles river and its possible Mafia connections, I advise you to forget it."

"Not that," Jordan said, blinking wearily after she lifted her head. "Cal accused Woody of killing their father, and I think Woody might be starting to believe it."

"Bull shit," Macy said firmly. He looked at Nigel and then back at Jordan. "You going to find a way to get it through that man's thick skull that everything is not his fault. He didn't do it, and we all know it."

"We were just discussing that, Dr. M," Nigel said. "I believe Woodrow should look into the case, prove to himself that it wasn't possible, and then—"

"Then maybe he'll get his head out of his ass, and we can move on with our lives," Macy agreed colorfully. "Do it. In the meantime, Nigel, I need you to work on the Horn case. Jordan, you've got a pick up. Your favorite kind."

"Oh, goodie," Jordan muttered, letting her head drop down onto the desk again.

* * *

He shouldn't let Jordan talk him into anything. Honestly, he'd thought he was over that. But not only had he let her talk him into coming back to Boston, he'd let her talk him into this. He supposed that it wasn't bad to have a place for himself, even if it was some rat hole the size of a closet. It was barely big enough for the desk and chairs, and it didn't have any sort of decoration. It was almost literally a hole in the wall.

But at least it was private.

Ironic, wasn't it? He was using his office, supposedly for his nonexistent business as an investigator, as his private sanctuary. It wasn't much of either, but he could live with that. It wasn't like he had _wanted _to become a private detective. That was Jordan's suggestion. She said he couldn't escape the cop in him, and she was right. But that didn't mean that he wanted to spend the rest of his life as some cliché from a bad film noir movie.

He rubbed the back of his neck and leaned back in the chair. It creaked. He opened the bottom drawer and cursed when he discovered that he'd emptied the bottle the last time he was here. He hadn't replaced it yet. Well, that gave him something to do.

He got to his feet and grabbed his coat, heading for the door when it opened. He blinked, and wondered if the lack of sleep was getting to him. It had to be a hallucination. Because Max Cavanaugh would not be standing across from him if he was perfectly sober and had actually been sleeping.

"It's been a long time, Woody. The years haven't been kind to either of us, have they?" Max asked.

Woody studied the man who looked like he'd aged ten years in the past three, and he shrugged. "I haven't looked at a mirror lately, and I don't want to. Why are you here, Max?"

"I heard you'd gone into the private sector," Max observed. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Technically, you haven't," Woody muttered. He pulled the jacket on anyway. "Don't make me ask again, Max. Why are you here?"

"I have a case for you," Max answered. "You wanna have a seat, and I'll tell you about it?"

Woody looked at him. "No. And no again. I know you think you mean well, Max, but I'm not really a detective. I let Jordan talk me into getting the license, and she put up the money for this... place, but I'm not really doing it. I'm done."

"Where are you headed, Woody? To another bottle?" Max asked, folding his arms over his chest and blocking the door.

"Max, I don't have the patience or the inclination to deal with yet another person telling me what to do or how to do it. I _do _still have a license, and I still have a gun, and I really don't think you want to push this issue right now," Woody warned him darkly. He didn't have time for this. He was sick of Jordan and all of her friends trying to "fix" him.

"You don't frighten me, Hoyt. You're a good man, no matter what the drink says, and I know you better than that," Max insisted.

Woody couldn't help the laughter. "You don't know me, Max. No one does, not even me. So you can get out of my way, or you can find out just how little you know."

"I'm not above begging," Max said. "I need your help. I need it badly. And Jordan can't know about this. She just can't."

Woody looked at the other man for a long moment. The years hadn't been kind, that much was true, but even beyond that, Max was an old man. He was tired and alone, and he looked like he was at the end of his rope. Woody could almost sympathize, but then he was still trying not to care.

He shrugged. "Sure, why not? What's one more secret from Jordan?"


	2. Fragile Leaves, Easily Crushed

**Broken Roots**  
******Chapter Two: Fragile Leaves, Easily Crushed**  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 2,001  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **So I had grand plans. They didn't really work out. They never do. I don't know why I keep thinking they might. :P

This will be a bumpy ride. The idea is to get to a happy (well... Happier?) ending, but it's not there yet. It's going to take time, possibly a lot. Bear with it...

* * *

******Fragile Leaves, Easily Crushed**

"What is that doing here?"

The first words out of his mouth, and under other circumstances, she would have been worried by them. But not right now. She's holding Maddie in her arms, and that was her secret weapon. While Woody might have been an ass to Jordan and everyone else, a jerk on par with right after his shooting, he was not, could not be that same jerk to Maddie.

Well, to the midget, as he always called her.

Jordan smiled. "I told Lily I'd watch her tonight. And I told you about it, too, but if it's a problem, I can always—"

"No, don't," he said softly. He collapsed on the couch and dropped his head into his lap. She sighed. She knew what this was. Now he would feel guilty. He would apologize to her, to everyone, and it would only make him hate himself more. The cycle was almost complete. She hated it, all of it, but this part was actually the worst. She knew what they said. Abusers followed a pattern, and the remorse phase was not to be trusted. The cycle would begin all over again. Woody would go back to the alcohol, back to being a jerk.

She should let him leave. She knew that. She didn't want to, and that was a problem for both of them. But maybe this time, with the help of the files she'd requested, they'd break the cycle. She sat down next to him, and Maddie grabbed a hold of his shirt.

He looked up at the baby, down at his shirt, and muttered under his breath. "I'll be back. I need a shower."

Jordan watched him go, smiling a little. He was still there, the man she knew and loved. Bent, broken, and beaten down, but he was there. She saw him every once and a while, even in the darkest times, a smile or a look, a memory. Maddie continued to reach for him—Woody remained her favorite person after Bug and Lily—and then started to cry.

Jordan winced. She hoped that Woody was not planning on a _long _shower. He might need one, though. She didn't know when the last time he'd showered was, and he always looked like hell these days. "He'll be back, Maddie. He's not gone. He'll be back."

She got up and tried rocking the child a bit as she went around the counter to check on the food. She had wanted to eliminate as many potential upsets as possible. So, she had food, if he was hungry, she had Maddie to keep him from losing his temper, and she had gotten rid of the alcohol again. She didn't know how he kept buying it—it wasn't like she was giving him the money, and he wasn't taking any from her—but the house was free of it.

Maddie was still crying when Woody finally emerged from the shower, looking fresh and new, and a lot better than he had when he went in. She would have smiled if Maddie wasn't screaming. He looked at her for a moment, and she knew he was laughing at her.

"Why did you volunteer to watch a child that doesn't like you?" he asked quietly, studying Jordan for a long moment. She hoped that the same thought was running through his head as it was hers. That this seemed right, familiar. Her, Woody, and a child. It should be their child, but Maddie was close.

"Oh," she shrugged. "Sometimes I forget that I was never meant to be a mother."

Woody took Maddie from Jordan, and the baby settled down quickly. "That's not necessarily true. The problem with Midget here is that you are _not _her mother. She can't get what she wants from you, but she thinks she should be able to, and that makes her cranky."

"You mean, she'd like me better if I was lactating?" Jordan asked, amused.

He rolled his eyes at her. Maddie hit him on the nose, and he held her upside down for a second, teasing her. She giggled. Jordan watched, unable to stop herself from feeling jealous. Sometimes she wondered if things would be different if they were more than just awkward roommates.

"You made food?" Woody asked as he went to pick up Maddie's bottle from the counter. He held it just out of the girl's reach and taunted her a few times before giving it to her. Okay, that wasn't quite as cute. Jordan could live with that.

"I don't cook. You know that," Jordan said. "But I figured... With Maddie... I thought I'd just pick something up, spare us any fight over what to eat and whether or not you were going to make it."

He nodded, the haunted look passing over him again. Maddie touched his face, and he smiled down at her. Jordan wondered if there was any way to get a more permanent loan. Maybe if Maddie was here more, or Woody had his own kid... _Their _own kid...

But would it be a lie? Would he just be pretending to keep the child happy as he slowly lost himself again? She didn't know. She hoped not.

"Woody, I know you're not going to like this," she began, "but we have to talk."

* * *

Max let himself into Hoyt's office and closed the door behind him. It didn't have much of a lock, but then he doubted Woody cared at this point. There was nothing worth stealing here, there was hardly anything at all. This wasn't where Max had expected to find his daughter's friend.

Honestly, he'd hoped that Woody would finally break down Jordan's walls, and they'd be married with kids by now. Then he'd read about Hoyt's death in the papers and almost come back, for Jordan's sake. He should have, should have been here for her, not just with Woody presumed dead, but while he was missing following that damn trial.

Max sat down in the chair, putting his burden on the desk. He wasn't ready to open it yet. He was still trying to figure out how Hoyt had become the man Max had argued with earlier. He'd done a bit of observing lately, watching his daughter and her friends from the sidelines. Lots of things had changed while he was gone, but he couldn't get over what had happened to Hoyt.

The trial, the newspapers, they didn't really show Hoyt, and he was probably better off that way. But it had taken a few favors from people Max used to know to get him into records again, to get a hold of the full transcript. What he read made him sick. He didn't want to believe it.

If Hoyt's father hadn't been dead... Max could have killed him. Let's face it. Woody had become a good friend and practically a son. He had Jordan's heart, and Max had known it long before either of them did. And Max wanted the men who had hurt his son to pay.

Too bad they were all out of his reach.

Max looked at the small metal box again. He didn't want to open it. He needed to, needed to lay this to rest at last. But... He wasn't ready.

He opened the top drawer of Hoyt's desk. Three folders, plain manila ones. Max wasn't sure what made him look at the names on the side, but he did. Calvin. That was the brother. Jordan. And Nigel? Max flipped the folder open and cursed softly when he realized what these were. Letters. Woody's goodbyes. He was planning to leave, and that meant more than Boston.

Max couldn't let that happen. He'd gotten Woody involved with the case, and he knew that was only the start. He looked at the box one more time. It was safe enough where it was. He put the folders back and headed out the door. Maybe he should have called, but he'd rather do this in person.

He got into his car and started it up. He hoped that he wouldn't find this man down in a bottle. Both of them deserved better than this.

* * *

"I really, really hate it when you say that," Woody muttered, shifting the midget in his arms as he turned to look at Jordan. "It's never good."

She shrugged, managing a half-hearted smile. "What can I say? I'm never going to do the right thing when it comes to you, Woody. I couldn't love you when you wanted me to, I loved you when you _didn't _want me to, I used you to sabotage my relationship with Pollack, and then I let you go when you were never the rebound guy. And I made you come back when you weren't ready. I just can't let you go."

He looked down at the midget. She was squirming again, reacting to his mood. And he hated having that effect on a child. They shouldn't have to feel this, feel like he did. He brushed the top of Midget's head, the soft hair she'd gotten from Lily. "You can't let go of anything, Jordan. It's your curse and your charm."

She smiled at him. "So you like me?"

He laughed a little, shaking his head. "Jordan, I think we both know the answer to that. But let's deal with the elephant in the room for change. What did you do? And why?"

"I called the sheriff's department in Kewaunee. They're sending me the files on your father's death," she told him. She took a deep breath and hurried on, "I know, you said you didn't want me to do anything. You said you didn't care, that Cal was wrong, but I just thought... I thought if we really proved it, for his sake and yours..."

"Jordan," he said. It felt like a curse as it left his lips. He handed the midget back to her and held up a hand. "Not another word. Just... Leave me alone. Please. Just for now."

She nodded, biting her lip, and he went into her bedroom, closing the door behind him. He closed his eyes and slid to the floor. He didn't want to face this. He didn't know _how _to face this. She had a point. He couldn't go on like this. Not with the nightmares, the fractured memories... He wasn't sure what was real and what he had dreamed up to torture himself. He couldn't keep waking up just as he was about to pull the trigger aimed at his father's back...

Sometimes it wasn't even that. It was worse. It wasn't anything like what he remembered. No convenience store, no punk, not even a gun. He almost _remembered _waking up, walking to the kitchen, grabbing a knife, and going to where his father was on the couch, passed out drunk, raising the knife...

He always woke up before he actually did it. Whether that was because he couldn't accept that he'd killed his father or that he really hadn't, he didn't know anymore. He didn't _want _to know the truth. Maybe it would stop all this worrying, but he didn't know if he could handle knowing that he _had _done it.

He didn't want to believe that he was a killer. He still felt no remorse for what he had done to Montelli, and the bastard hadn't died, but Woody did not want to be a killer. He didn't want to be his father's killer. After all that had happened, he still wanted that part of his soul clean. He wanted to be _better _than what his father was, what his father had done.

He put his arms over his knees, his head on top of them. He wanted some sort of relief, but he couldn't even cry these days. No, he was stuck, trapped, with his own demons and plenty of pain. Maybe Jordan had offered him a way out.

Maybe she'd just condemned him to the worst sort of hell.


	3. Turn of the Seasons

**Broken Roots**  
******Chapter Three: Turn of the Seasons**  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 2,093  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **So I had grand plans. They didn't really work out. They never do. I don't know why I keep thinking they might. :P

This will be a bumpy ride. The idea is to get to a happy (well... Happier?) ending, but it's not there yet. It's going to take time, possibly a lot. Bear with it...

If I could just stop picking on Woody... And if I could write Garret... :P

* * *

******Turn of the Seasons**

"Long time no see," Garret observed dryly as he opened his door to Max Cavanaugh. It was hard to be polite to a man who had taken off like Max had. It was irrational and unfair to blame the fallout of the last four years on Max's leaving, but it sure as hell hadn't helped.

"It has been a while," Max agreed, "but can you at least let me in?"

Garret moved aside and allowed Max to enter the house. He led the way over to the couch and offered Max a seat with his hand. Max took it, settling in with a groan. "These old bones of mine don't get around like they used to."

"Don't say that," Garret warned, leaning back against the couch, trying to get comfortable. "You're not that much older than I am."

Max laughed. "That's kind of you, Garret, but untrue."

Garret shrugged. He could really use a drink right about now. The burn of whiskey would drown the bitter taste in his mouth. "Why are you here, Max?"

Max smiled. "You're not the first to ask that. And you're probably less patient than he was, if that's possible. I understand. I came back to put to rest these old ghosts. It's time. Past time."

Garret rose and walked into the kitchen. He wanted to pour them both a stiff one, but he was sober. He had more than a year's worth of sobriety, and he wouldn't throw that away over one bad night. It hadn't even shown its true colors yet. Max's return shouldn't feel like the second coming.

He filled up two coffee mugs with the pot that had been cooling off for a few hours and returned to the other room with them. He passed one to Max, who smiled at him. "Coffee. Good choice."

"It's not what I want, but I'm sure you know that," Garret said. He watched Max, waiting for the other man to deny that he'd kept tabs on what happened in Boston while he was gone. The former cop and bar owner nodded. "Things have gone to hell while you've been gone, Max. She needs you. She's needed you for a long time."

Max sighed deeply. He took a long, slow drink from his coffee. "I can't give you a good explanation for where I've been or what I've done. I tried to keep an eye on things, but that wasn't good enough."

"No," Garret agreed coldly. "It wasn't. It isn't."

"I can't change what I've done," Max agreed. "There were things that I had to do, not just for my sake, but for Jordan's. My past is still hurting her."

"You should have been here, Max. I don't know what you did while you were gone, and I'm not sure I care what your reasons were. Jordan changed a lot in the last few years. Some of the changes were good. Necessary. She grew up. But it cost her a lot."

Max grunted. "You've never pulled your punches, Garret. I appreciate that. But we don't have the time to fix everything I've done wrong over the years. What happened to Hoyt?"

"You've seen him?" Garret asked, knowing that there was no way that he'd been Max's first stop. Even if Max hadn't gone to see Jordan—and Garret didn't think that he had—Garret was not at the top of the list of people he would go to.

"I've seen what's left of him," Max corrected. "He seemed like such a happy young man. Always thought the job—Jordan _and _the job—would chew him up and spit him out, but not like this."

"That wasn't the job. And the Woody you knew was some sort of front. A shield, someone who was what he thought everyone wanted him to be because he couldn't handle being who he was," Garret explained.

"This is about that trial. About Gibson and the others, those damn dirty cops and their sick sideline," Max said.

"That, and Cal shot him and accused him of killing their father."

"Bull shit."

Garret smiled. "That's what I said. Trouble is, Woody believes it. In part, at any rate. Nigel's organizing a murder night as soon as the files come from Kewaunee."

"Name the date. I'll be there."

* * *

"So... How did it go?" Nigel asked as Jordan came in the next morning. She looked better, actually, more rested, relaxed even. In fact, he hadn't seen Jordan look this good since before the explosion that unraveled Woodrow's life. This was good. At least, Nigel really hoped so.

"He took it rather well, actually," she said, putting her stuff down on her desk. She moved the coat to the back of the chair, dumped the purse underneath the desk. She picked up Lily's toy and smiled for a second. "He locked himself in the bedroom and stayed there for the rest of the night."

Nigel blinked. He studied Jordan for a moment. This couldn't be right. How did Jordan come in looking—well, _perky—_when Woody had reacted by locking himself in a room? No, there was more to this tale, and Jordan was about to confess. "So what's with the afterglow, then?"

"I said he didn't come out of the room," she said with a smile. "He fell asleep. He actually slept, Nigel. It was wonderful. He didn't wake up, not once, and I got to sleep with him in my arms... And Maddie didn't even wake up. She was perfect. It was a good night."

"Hmm," Nigel whispered after she finished, studying her thoughtfully. "If this is how you get after just sleeping with him, then I'd really like to see you after you have sex."

"Nigel!" Jordan exclaimed, her face flaming. He smiled at her.

"I want details, love. Lots and lots of details," Nigel told her as he left the room, heading back into the crowded office area to torment Bug. It would just gall the little man that his daughter had been so well behaved for Woody. Bug was so jealous of Maddie's affection for the burned out tragic hero that Woody had become; teasing him was quite priceless. Nigel rubbed his hands together with delight. "Buggles!"

Bug looked up from his computer, frowning. "What do you want, Nigel?"

"So, I heard an interesting little tidbit from Jordan about Maddie," Nigel began, sitting on the edge of Bug's desk and leaning over him. Bug rolled his eyes. "You want to know what it was?"

"Nigel, please, I have work to do," Bug muttered, standing up and walking away. Nigel followed him. He wasn't finished yet. He had lots more to do.

"Nigel!" Dr. Macy barked, causing him to stop mid-step with a wince. He turned around with a full, forced smile.

"Dr. M. What can I do for you?" Nigel asked brightly, ignoring Bug's snickering.

"The results from the Horn case weren't on my desk," Macy said. "If they're not on my desk, they should be in your hand on their way to me. I don't see them."

"About that, Dr. M, there was a slight snag—"

"I don't want to hear about any snags, Nigel. I want the results," Macy insisted. "And let me know as soon as those files get here from Kewaunee"

"Will do, Dr. M," Nigel promised and quickly made his escape, past Bug, who was still laughing. Oh, he would get Buggles back for this.

Later.

* * *

Woody let himself into his office, wondering how he would get through the next few days. He had to find a way to do it without going out of his mind. Not that he really was in his right mind to begin with, but he had to keep what little was left of his fragile hold on sanity. He couldn't stand waiting. He should have gone to Kewaunee himself, gotten the files in person.

But he knew that he couldn't handle going back to Kewaunee After that horrible meeting in the cemetery, with the words echoing in his head and the memories flooding back to him, he had stared at the town for hours, watching the people and wondering if any of them knew what his father had done, if they even suspected it, and if they did...

Why had no one done anything? Why had they let it go on?

He shook off the thought. He didn't want to think about small towns and their collusion when it came to crime. He'd had enough of that. He didn't know what else to think about, but he had to find a way to keep his mind off of what had happened all those years ago, about the files that he was waiting for, about whether or not he had killed his father.

He took off his coat and slung it on the back of the chair and stopped. There was a metal box on top of his desk. One that had definitely _not _been there yesterday. He'd been drinking, yes, but he knew there was no box yesterday. That wasn't his.

He looked at the door. The lock was a piece of crap, and Woody had never cared until this moment. He shuddered. He knew that the fear was ridiculous. None of the people who hurt him could get to him now. His father was dead. Rumos was in prison. Cal was in detox.

_Then what the hell are you so afraid of? _

Woody lowered himself into the chair, trying to get a grip. Max had been here yesterday. And Max no longer had a house or a bar in the city. Coming back to Woody's office was a logical step. The box was Max's. It was not a threat.

He stared at it for a long moment. Damn it, he had to know what was in it, or he would never have any peace. He reached over and looked at the lock. A padlock, old, and rusted, the key probably long gone. He wasn't sure there was any way to open it besides cutting it off, but he opened the bottom drawer and took out the lockpicks that Jordan had given him as a present. _Every private detective needs a set of lockpicks. These are yours._

He set to work on the lock, jimmying unsuccessfully for a few minutes before it creaked and popped open. He smiled with grim satisfaction and took the lock off, setting it aside. He opened the box slowly, finding a folded paper, yellow with age, the lead from the pencil only a faint impression now. He set it to the left of the box, and then reached in for the other item. It was an old film case, dusty despite its confinement, and he blew it off as he picked it up. A video, and an old one.

Unsure what possessed him to do it, he shoved the film and the paper back in the box and closed it, shutting the lock again. He couldn't do this. He didn't know what Max expected to find on that video, but Woody couldn't have any part of it. He just...couldn't.

The damn thing scared the crap out of him. He wanted to throw it out the window and hope it bounced off a semi and into the Charles. He couldn't. It didn't belong to him.

The thing was, that video was probably something to do with Emily Cavanaugh's murder. It all came back to that for Jordan and Max. It wouldn't surprise Woody one bit if that was the final piece, the missing link needed to find Emily's killer.

So why did it scare him so much? Jordan deserved to know. Max deserved to know.

But Woody's fear of being his father's killer must be translating to the damn box. He wasn't Emily's killer. God, he'd been eight years old then, and he was in Wisconsin at the time. He had been... No. No, that was too soon for one of his father's road trips.... Wasn't it?

Woody didn't know for sure. His memories of those times were mercifully indistinct, and he preferred it that way. He didn't know how old he'd been when it started, and he didn't _want _to know. Knowing meant remembering, meant details, things that he would rather not have in his memory.

_You were eight years old when Jordan's mom was killed. You couldn't have done it. _With an anguished cry, he picked up the box and hurled it across the room. Then he lowered himself to the floor and wept.


	4. Scattered as They Fall

**Broken Roots**  
******Chapter Four: Scattered as They Fall**  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 2,008  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **So I lost my copies of Crossing Jordan, couldn't find the episodes I needed to reference. And then, low and behold, they didn't tell me much. The rest I made up. Thus, I own the mistakes. Not sure I should be proud of that. :P

* * *

******Scattered as They Fall**

"Is that what I think it is?" Nigel asked, hovering over Jordan's shoulder as she signed for the package. She shoved him away, but he came right back. Bug was with him, both of them crowding her as she tried to get away from them, heading down the corridor to her office. She wanted to open this in private. She hadn't expected the files to get here so soon, but she wanted to go over them by herself first.

"Come on, Jordan," Nigel said as she tried to shut the door to her office on them. "You can't honestly expect us to just sit this out, can you? Woody needs my expert assistance."

"He needs _our _help," Bug corrected, elbowing Nigel, who cursed in the best of British slang for a minute. She wasn't in the mood to laugh.

Jordan shook her head. "This is my box. It has my name on it. And that means you two have to stay out of it. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do."

"Yeah, right," Nigel scoffed. "Come on, love, let us help. You know we can."

"Guys, these files may be public record, but they're Woody's past. Think about it for a second. He wouldn't want you to dig into it without his permission, okay? I'm going to lock this box up, take it home, and give it to him," she told them. She set it under her desk and folded her arms over her chest, preventing them from coming any closer to it.

"You expect us to believe that?" Nigel demanded. "You want to solve this thing for him, and you know it, Jordan. Let us help."

"Guys, I mean it," she insisted, pushing her hair behind her ear. She should be crossing her fingers, too. "The box is staying right here, locked in my office, until after work is done. When it is, I'm taking it to Woody. He should look at it first—if he can."

"And if he can't?" Bug asked, watching her very carefully.

"Then we open it up for him," she said. "But not now. Okay? He needs that chance. And he'll never forgive us if we don't give it to him."

"Nigel!" Garret's voice barked out across the morgue. "Where are those results for the Horn case?"

"Damn," Nigel whispered. "Duty calls. Buggles, if she opens that box—"

"Nigel!" Garret was really impatient. He sounded pissed. Nigel lowered his head as he walked over to where Garret waited. Jordan closed the door and locked it behind her. She looked at Bug, who shook his head, his disbelief all over his face. She didn't care. They were not looking at those files before she did.

Bug left for his desk, muttering to himself. Jordan looked down at her keys, a faint smile coming over her face. She knew what she could do. She knew what she was _going _to do. She waited for Nigel to go back to work and went to the still fuming Garret.

"Don't start," Garret warned, "I know you owe me over two week's worth of paperwork, and you're not leaving this office until you get it done. No pickups, no autopsies, no trace. Do you understand?"

"Gee, thanks," she muttered. "Look, Garret, the files from Woody's dad's murder came. Bug and Nigel are dying to get a peek. I've got them locked in my office, but I'd rather put them in Woody's hands sooner rather than later. He has the right to see them first."

Garret folded his arms over his chest. "He's willing to look at them?"

"He took it pretty well, actually, Garret," Jordan admitted. "Locked himself in a room for a while, but then he actually slept for a change, and in the morning, he said he would look at them."

"It won't be easy for him. Even without Cal's accusations, looking at those files, especially the pictures, is going to be harder than hell for him. Didn't he say his father died in his arms?" Garret shook his head. "Bastard didn't deserve those kids."

"Yeah," Jordan agreed. She wondered what the files would say about Woody's father. Warren Harding Hoyt. A theme, a cruel one, in Jordan's opinion. But that was one man that she'd like to meet. She'd give him a piece of her mind and then some for what he'd done. She wanted him to pay, and he'd gotten away with it.

"Go," Garret told her. "Take Woody the files now. The sooner he looks at them, the sooner he can get past this."

"Yeah," Jordan agreed guiltily. She swallowed hard as she headed back to her office. She shouldn't lie. She should do what she said. But she wouldn't.

She wanted to see those files first.

* * *

"You know, that's a hell of a way to treat someone else's property," Max observed.

Woody lifted his head from his knees and looked up to see the older man picking up the box he'd thrown across the room earlier. The film had come out of the box, and Max was turning it over in his hands with quiet fascination. He seemed puzzled to find it, as if he had not expected that from the old box. Mementos,letters, maybe, but a film?

"You broke in," Woody observed dryly. "That makes your rights forfeit."

Max sighed. "I just needed some place to store it for a few days."

"And you could have asked," Woody muttered. He got to his feet and went to his desk. His back hurt, and so did his legs. How long had he sat there, anyway? He looked at his wrist. Right, no watch. He looked at the window, but it was no way to judge anything, as dirty as it was. Maybe he was better off not knowing. Yeah, probably.

"You were with Jordan. I told you, I'm not ready for her to know I'm here," Max said. "You're a mess. What the hell have you done to yourself, Hoyt?"

"You really expect me to believe you don't know what happened, Max? You want to lie, do it to Jordan. The sad thing is, she'll still believe you," Woody muttered as he opened his desk drawer. Great, so Max had done more than leave that box here.

"That was low, Woody."

"And so was breaking in," Woody shot back. "Look, I agreed to help you. I'm not even sure why I did, but if you want my help, then you stay the hell out of my stuff and my life. I didn't ask you for help, and I'm not going to, do you understand that?"

Max took a deep breath. "Fine, if that's the way you want it. But I am here, if you need me."

"I'd just as soon not need anyone," Woody muttered. "So, what do you think is on that film?"

Max looked down at the case in his hand. "Assuming there's anything left, Woody, I believe that this... this could tell me why Emily was killed. After all these years, we'd finally know..."

"So, the first step is finding someone to process it, right?" Woody asked. He shrugged, his shoulder aching badly. He rolled it a bit, trying to lessen the pain. "Nigel could probably do it, but I'm assuming that you don't want him involved."

"Not yet," Max admitted. "I'd like to keep everyone else out of this, Woody. I've got a friend who has this kind of equipment. If he can't do it, then we'll get Nigel to do it."

"Sounds good," Woody agreed. "You have a car?"

Max nodded. "I've got one. Don't you?"

"Nope. Not since last year. I actually prefer walking, especially in Boston," Woody admitted. "I lost a lot of cars in the last three years. The Chevelle, the Charger, the department one that got bombed.... No, I'm done with cars for a while."

Max didn't understand, but then, Woody didn't expect him to. Not much that he did anymore made sense to anyone, least of all him. He grabbed his coat again, pulling it on as he followed Max out the door.

* * *

Jordan pushed her furniture around, up against the wall so that she could lay out all of the papers inside her very big box. Warren Harding Hoyt's death had been a big matter back in Kewaunee. And she was looking at the evidence right here. She'd taken the top of the box with a shiver, and opened the first file like a guilty school girl. She knew that she should be letting Woody do this, but she wasn't sure that he could.

She knew that he didn't want to face this. It was his past, but he'd have to remember. Remember all of it. And she knew that was the last thing that he wanted. He had repeated that over and over. He wanted to forget. Forgetting was his only way of coping. And she didn't want him to forget, not when it meant giving up on everything. On them.

She looked down at the folder. This was Warren's personnel file. He'd joined the sheriff's department at age eighteen, left to do his tour of duty in Vietnam, and returned after that, a Kinks fan that later betrayed his son in the worst way possible. She frowned, wondering how Woody had managed to idealize the bastard.

Hoyt was described as a good officer, loyal to the law, devoted to his family. He'd had some difficulty readjusting to life after Vietnam, but if he wanted to use that or his wife's death as an excuse for what he'd done to his son, it didn't fly with Jordan. Her father had raised her alone, done some things that he wasn't proud of, but he'd never turned on her, not like Warren had done Woody.

Five years before his death, Warren had been elected sheriff, and reelected every time after that. No one in Kewaunee had any complaints, at least not official ones. He'd been commended by the mayor three times, and there was a picture there of him with his "future deputies." Seeing his hand on Woody's shoulder, a normal, possessive and fatherly gesture, made her feel sick.

She set the folder aside. It wasn't very helpful. The last note was on his death, and it just noted the day and that he'd died in the line of duty. That was all. She still felt the bastard had gotten off too easily.

She picked up another folder and studied it. This one was the crime scene. A small convenience store, right on the main road in and out of town. The photos were black and white, but still stark and horrible. Blood was pooled out across the floor, right in the doorway. Woody's father had just gone in for a pack of cigarettes and some beer... He'd been shot in the back while one of the robbers held up the clerk. The photo showed his body lying right next to the door. _Oh, God,_ Jordan thought. Woody and Cal had been waiting in the car. They could have seen that happen...Could that be why they had such skewed memories of it?

Or was it because Woody had gotten out of the car, taken his father's service revolver and killed him with it? And Cal knew?

She shook her head, not believing that she'd let herself think that, even for a moment. Woody was not like that. He had not killed his father. And she was going to prove it. She was. Here and now, she would prove it. She had the evidence. She could do this.

She took out another photo. This one was in color, taken by someone other than the department, and in it, Woody was holding his father and crying, Cal next to him looking helpless. She swallowed hard. This was probably the hardest thing to see.

The boys loved their father. In spite of everything he'd done to them, they cared about him. It just seemed so wrong. So very wrong...


	5. Trampled Underfoot

**Broken Roots**  
******Chapter Five: Trampled Underfoot**  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 2,380  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **So I lost my copies of Crossing Jordan, couldn't find the episodes I needed to reference. And then, low and behold, they didn't tell me much. The rest I made up. Thus, I own the mistakes. Not sure I should be proud of that. :P

* * *

******Trampled Underfoot**

"Lily—Uh, good, good, come in," Jordan said, taking Maddie from her overloaded friend. She smiled at the baby, who made a face. Well, Woody could have charmed her, but all Maddie wanted from Jordan was down. With the files spread out on the floor, that wasn't an option. The screaming started, and Lily quickly set down her bags and took her daughter back.

Rocking Maddie back to happiness, Lily looked around. "What is all this, Jordan?"

Jordan looked sheepish. She had been caught. "Uh, I... It's the case files."

"I thought you were giving them to Woody," Lily said, chastising her. Jordan shrugged. Everyone knew her better than that. It wasn't really her fault that Garret had believed her. Bug hadn't. Nigel hadn't. But she'd gotten away with it until now. "That's why I came, to... To be here for _when _Woody saw the file. I wanted to help him make sense of what happened and how he feels."

"Thank you, Lily. I appreciate it. I'm not sure how Woody will react, but I'm glad you're here. Really," Jordan assured her. She held up a finger, a thought coming to her. "Actually, maybe you can explain something to me."

She crossed the room and found the picture that she'd stared at for the better part of the afternoon, the one that still bothered her. She handed it to Lily, who shifted the baby to her other side and looked at it. She frowned. "What about it? I mean, it seems rather obvious what's going on in it. And you would actually know better than I would."

"Lily, look at them," Jordan told her. "Look at their faces. Woody's _crying. _Cal is so lost, so helpless. How does that work? How could they... Why would they cares so damn much about a man that hurt them?"

Lily smiled sadly, looking down at her daughter. "Jordan, I'm afraid that's _easy _to explain. The thing is, no matter what our parents do—or _don't—_do, they are still our parents. Not much can change that. We have to be willing and able to overcome a biological imperative. We are born with needs, we need their help, their guidance and affection. If we don't have parents who can give us these things, if we have parents who are incapable of giving or who withhold them from us maliciously, that doesn't change _our _need. We simply have a hole where this should be, and we try to fulfill it later in life, if we can. For Woody and Cal, it goes even deeper than those needs. They lost their mother at a very young age. All they had, all they knew was their father. For them, this was the end of their world."

"You're kidding, right?" Jordan asked. "I mean, I guess I understand, but I _don't._ It doesn't seem right that Woody would mourn a man that abused him, that Cal would be so confused by the loss of a man that hit him. It should have been a _good _thing."

"Good is a matter of perspective," Lily said, sitting down. "Jordan, in that moment, Woody and Cal probably knew that their father was going to die. And they didn't know where that would leave them. Remember that Warren was not Woody's only abuser. There was the other man. If I was Woody, I would have been terrified that I would end up in his hands. That _Cal _would end up in his hands. In _worse _hands."

"So," Jordan finished. "Better the devil you know."

"In this case, yes," Lily agreed. She tugged at on of Maddie's curls, watching her smile. "I imagine that even when custody was given to Woody's aunt and uncle, he was still afraid. He mentioned in the past that he was overweight. Sometimes that can be a manifestation of this kind of abuse. The child attempts to make themselves seem less attractive, less desirable to someone who would abuse them. I'm not sure that's what happened with Woody, but it's a possibility."

Jordan sat down, taking a deep breath. She felt sick. Defeated. She turned to look at her friend. "I don't know where Woody is, Lily. But I have a bad feeling that these case files won't help him."

* * *

"Max! Good to see you, Old Buddy," the older man said, clapping Max's hand in his and shaking it like he was ready to pull it out of his socket. Woody watched it all, trying not to be disgusted by it. He didn't know why it was so revolting to see any sign of affection, no matter what relationship existed between the two parties. He shook his head.

"Good to see you, Boxer," Max agreed. He pulled his arm back, and Woody swore it was still moving, still pumping. He almost laughed. "Got some work for you."

"Bring it on," the other man said, shifting his heavy bulk around as he came around the counter. The floorboard creaked, and the glass in the case rumbled a bit. It almost broke. Woody looked at Max. Max shrugged. He trusted this man, no matter how large, how old, how bald. "You always did have the best cases. What is it this time?"

Woody sighed. He didn't want to play games. He just wanted to get this over with. Done. Max gone, everyone out of his personal affairs. He knew that the files from Kewaunee would be here soon. He didn't want to see them, and yet he did. He wanted to put it past him. And he _needed _to put it past him. He needed to put this past him, too.

"Yeah, how about that, Max?" Woody asked, folding his arms over his chest. He looked at Max again. "Where did you get that locked box?"

Max looked at him for a long moment. He didn't want to tell the truth, that much was clear. And Woody was not sure he wanted to know. But he felt like pushing the issue. "Okay, that's fine. I can go back to my little office and spend the rest of the day there. Or maybe I'll go tell Jordan that her MIA father is back in town. Hmm, decisions, decisions."

Max glared at him. "You know, I really don't think I care for your attitude, Hoyt."

"And I told you if you wanted to lie, try someone else. I'm not the man you knew, Max. I don't really care for this shit," Woody snapped. "The truth, or I can walk out the door. Because I have no reason to stay, and you know it."

Max sighed. Boxer laughed. "Hell of a young pup you've got on your hands there, Max."

"He's more trouble then it's worth," Max agreed with a huff. He sighed again, shaking his head. "Okay, Hoyt. I found this in a safety deposit box in Emily's maiden name. I didn't know she had it. I thought I'd looked everywhere. But James had the key, he left it in his place after he took Jordan... I tracked it down, found the box, and..."

"And you've waited three years to open the damn thing?" Woody demanded. "What the hell is wrong with you, Max? No, never mind. I don't want to know. I'm just here... I don't even know why, so I'm just not going to try and understand. So, you found the box. You brought it back here."

"Look, it may sound stupid, but I was afraid of what I would find," Max admitted. "I still am. Boxer, here's the tape. I don't know what condition it's in. But this could be what got Emily killed."

"Or it could be a charming home video," Woody muttered. Max shot him a dirty look. Woody smiled back and moved towards the door.

"Hold on, hold on," Boxer said, carefully examining the seal. He studied it for a moment. "It will probably oxidize the moment I open it. I'll have to get a sterile environment."

"Here?" Woody asked, earning another glare from the old men. He shrugged. He was enjoying irritating them too much. This place looked liked it hadn't seen a broom in years, and he was pretty sure that this was one of the pawn shops that doubled as a place to fence stolen goods. Not that he cared, because he wasn't a cop anymore, but he still saw the signs.

"I've got a place, and I can do the work, but it will take me a few days, Max. This is delicate," Boxer said, studying the 8MM reel again.

"I've waited a long time for this," Max said. "I think I can wait a few more days."

* * *

Jordan looked up as the door opened. He was back. She needed an explanation, but she didn't really have one. She looked over at Lily, who had fallen asleep on the couch, Maddie in her arms, waiting for Woody to get back. And it's not worth trying to hide because the evidence is all over. It's in plain sight, and she could only smile a little as she braced herself for what she knew was coming.

He looked at the floor first, then at her and Lily and Maddie. And he shook his head with bitter laughter. She winced, but she figured that was actually him taking it pretty well. Again.

"I'm not even going to ask," he began as he took off his coat and dumped it on the last free spot on the couch. He crossed into the kitchen and to the refrigerator. She would have bet that he would have taken out a beer if they'd had any. But if he's bought alcohol since the last she poured out, he hasn't brought it here. He settled on a soda and came back into the room as he popped the top.

"Well, it doesn't require asking, does it?" she said, getting up slowly, trying not to wake the others. "Can I ask where you've been?"

Woody stared at the manila folders like they would bite him. He finally pulled his eyes away and back to her. "Oh, that. Well... I said I wouldn't tell. Not sure I'm going to keep the promise... Maybe for now. This... This is the case file, isn't it?"

"It came today. To work. I... I wanted to help you with it," she told him. He looked at her for a long moment, and she caved in under his gaze. "Okay, okay, so I wanted to solve it _for _you. I wanted to have it all wrapped up in a nice bow so that I could hand it to you and make everything okay again."

He smiled a little, crossing the room towards her, touching his hand to her face. He leaned his forehead against hers. "Nothing can. You know that, Jordan."

She looked up at him. "I can't stop trying. I want to fix it. I want... I want _us. _And I know that can't happen until you know what happened. Until..."

"Jordan," Woody said, tipping her head up so that she was really looking at him, "shut up."

She started to say something, but he cut her off, covering her mouth with his. She couldn't hardly breathe, as he pretty much devoured her mouth. She felt weak, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she was wondering what game he was playing. He didn't do this, not... Not ever, really. This was not their kiss in the desert, not their almost kiss on the balcony, not one from their night at the Lucy Carver Inn, not their "one for the road" before he left...

He stepped back and pointed to Lily. "I think we need to send some people home. Poor Midget. She's all worn out."

Jordan held up a hand. "Wait a second. What was that?"

He just smiled at her and went over to pick up the diaper bag and then the baby. As he did, Lily woke. She blinked a few times, sleep clouding her eyes. Woody smiled at her. "Come on, Lily. I'll drive you home."

"But you don't drive," Lily muttered as she got to her feet, fumbling for her jacket. Jordan put her hands on her hips. What did Woody think he was doing? That he could just kiss her like that and walk away? That was not going to happen. He had some explaining to do.

"Woody—"

"We'll finish our discussion later, Jordan," Woody told her as he helped Lily with her jacket. Maddie was still out, her head up against his shoulder, and damned if the image of Woody as a dad didn't make Jordan a little weak in the knees. "In the meantime, maybe you should clean up a bit?"

She blinked. "What, you want me just to put it away?"

He looked at the files again. "Yeah, I want you to put it away. Because I want to sleep, Jordan. I don't want to spend the rest of my night looking at those things. I want one more night without those images burned in my memory all over again. So put them away."

Lily nodded encouragingly to Jordan, who sighed and started picking up the files. Woody opened the door for Lily and followed her out into the hall, closing the door.

Jordan cursed in frustration. What was going on? Why was Woody acting like this? She almost wanted the drunk Woody back. At least he kind of made sense. Yeah, he was angry at the world, but she could cope with that. She understood it. This Woody was all over the place, and she didn't know what to expect.

She picked up the last folder and went to put it back in the box. A paper fell out and she went to grab it. It slid under the table, and she reached for it. She didn't remember looking at this one, but she hadn't read them all yet. She looked at the door and figured she may as well while she waited for Woody to get back.

Oh, hell, she thought as she read on. She had the trial transcript, the one for the punk everyone knew was responsible for Warren's death, just one page of it, but the most important one. The verdict.

Not guilty.


	6. Changing Colors

**Broken Roots**  
******Chapter Six: Changing Colors**  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 2,002  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **I hate retail in the spring time, I hate retail in the fall, I hate retail so much I don't know why I work there at all... Yeah, so I blame my work for the delay. I hate my job.

* * *

******Changing Colors**

She woke alone. She muttered a curse as she rolled over, and her hand found the other side of the bed _empty. _She had wanted to wake up slowly, her head on his chest, her arm across his waist. She'd planned on lingering in bed, perhaps coaxing him into a repeat of last night.

_One last night_, he'd said. _One last night before it all comes crashing down again._ Knowing what she did about the outcome of the trial, she had agreed, just before he'd kissed her again, and she'd pretty much forgotten everything else. His kisses _were _that good, and hell, it had been a long time for her. She'd waited a long time for last night. It had been worth it, but she really didn't want to wait that long again.

She got up and crossed the room, heading towards the living room. She had a feeling that she knew where Woody was. Out with the box. And she knew that she'd never get him away from it now. That was his Pandora's box, after all. He was scared to know what was in it, wasn't he? He needed to open it, couldn't open it. A typical catch-22. She'd been in one herself, and she knew how it could go. But she would help him through it. She knew he would have done the same for her, if she'd only let him.

She stopped just inside the other room. She was wrong. He was in the kitchen, making coffee. The box was still unopened, sitting where she'd left it last night. She went to him, touching his arm. He turned and wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her.

"Well," she said when he let her go and she got her breath back, "I could get used to waking up like this. Of course, you _could _have stayed in bed."

"I couldn't sleep," he told her, shaking his head miserably. "I tried, I really did."

"The box is still sitting there," she observed, watching his reaction carefully.

"Read it already," he shook his head. "It didn't tell me anything that I didn't already know. Jordan, I don't know what I was expecting to be different, why I thought that I would figure it out this time. I've been over this so many times... This isn't even the first time I've looked at that box. When I was a deputy, I looked them up. I wanted to prove that the punk had done it. I couldn't then. I still can't now."

"We'll find a way, Woody," she promised him, embracing him tightly and leaning against him, taking a deep breath. There had to be something. They would find it, together. She wanted him to know that he had her, that she wasn't leaving, and they were going to get through this.

"Jordan, I don't know what we can really do," Woody said, touching her face. I appreciate what you've done. What you _tried _to do. I just—"

She stood up and kissed him, taking his hand and leading him back into the bedroom. She didn't care if if she was late to work today. They would have to live with it. She was going to stay with woody as long as she could, and she wanted to start this morning over, waking up in his arms.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. "What are we doing, Jordan?"

"You are going to try and get some rest," she insisted, pushing him over on the bed. He fell sideways, and she laughed a little at his expression. He grabbed for her and pulled her down with him. She decided _not _to mention that she should be going to work right now.

It was a _lot _better in his arms, anyway.

* * *

"So, we're talking desperate measures, then?" Nigel asked, perched on the edge of Jordan's desk. She looked both happy and sad, unsure of what she should be, how she should feel. She looked confused, and she was so cute when she was confused. What intrigued Nigel, however, was what made her so happy that a smile kept overcoming the frustration and guilt that she felt about failing to solve Woody's father's murder.

"Desperate measures?" she asked, fiddling with the ring on her finger. Nigel smiled. He knew her smile had something to do with Woodrow. And he had a feeling that he knew what that was.

"Well, we need to put our collective genius together, of course. We stage a murder night. Starting tonight."

Jordan shook her head. "Tonight's too soon. It's not that I don't want to do this as soon as possible, for Woody, but we need time to prepare, a place to get all of us together, drinks and food, and... Well, we need to get Cal involved."

"Calvin?" Nigel frowned. That would slow things down a bit. Detox programs did not think highly of letting their patients roam free, and they would have to restrict the drinks to those of the nonalcoholic variety. Not that Nigel wished to _encourage_ Woody or Dr. M, but he knew that it would be bloody awful for Woodrow, going through all this again.

"This isn't about Woody," Jordan said. "Cal made the accusation. This is confused in _his _mind as well. And we have to know his side of the story, not just the drug induced part, but the truth. Woody's story alone isn't enough. It won't convince Cal. It might not even convince Woody."

"Tell you what, love," Nigel rose from the desk. "I'll get Bug and his dear wife Lily to work on the food, and I'll speak to Dr. M, see if he knows where to have it. You work your magic on Calvin."

Jordan sighed deeply, reaching for her phone. Nigel stopped in the doorway. "Oh, and might I assume that smile from earlier had something to do with you being late this morning and that both of those involved Woodrow?"

She blushed. Nigel's suspicious were confirmed. He smiled. "I want details, love. All kinds of juicy details."

Jordan wadded up a paper and threw it at him. "Get out."

Nigel chuckled to himself as he headed down to Dr. M's office. The location, now that was the key. If only Max were still around, still in possession of his charming pub... That was an ideal location. Nigel knocked on Macy's door.

"Have you finished that detail for the Horn case?" Macy asked.

"I forgot it on my desk, but rest assured, it is waiting for you," Nigel promised. "I've come about arranging a murder night."

"Woody went over the files then?" Macy asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Jordan says she went over them, and so did he. It's time to work our magic," Nigel insisted. "First, however, we need a _location. _Without Max's delightful pub or even his quaint suburban domicile—"

"We can do it here," Macy interrupted. "We'll use the conference room. Have you spoken to anyone else about this?"

"Just Jordan," Nigel answered. "I was going to see if Mr. And Mrs. Buggles could handle the food, and Jordan's going to try and arrange for Cal to be there."

"Good. Let me know when you've got it all worked out. And get me those files for the Horn case."

* * *

"I can't do this," Woody protested as Jordan pulled him to the car. She'd come home, woken him from yet another fitful sleep, and announced that they were going to the morgue. She was cheery—_too _cheery—which meant that act was for his sake, and she was preparing him for something unpleasant. He didn't know what it was, but whatever it was, he wasn't up to it.

"You have to, Woody," Jordan insisted, opening the door for him and pushing him into the seat. "You need this."

Woody glared at her as she shut the door and crossed around to the driver's side. He wasn't sure what was bothering him more—the sense that what was coming was bad or Jordan's insistence that she knew what was right for him.

She got in behind the wheel and started up the car, backing out of her space. He waited a few minutes, and finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "What is really going on, Jordan?"

She looked at him, clearly uncertain of how to answer. This was not good. Very, very not good. "Remember when I asked you to dinner, and you thought it was a date and then you ended up roped into a...um...well... We solved those copycat murders?"

"Jordan, please tell me that you did _not _arrange a murder night to go over my dad's case," he said, and he hated the begging that he heard in his own voice.

"Well, I didn't do all the arrangements," Jordan began slowly.

"Damn it, Jordan," Woody cursed, tempted to yank open the door and jump out of the car. This was crazy. He didn't know what the hell was wrong with him. He _needed _to know the truth. He _needed _to know what he had done, if he had truly done what Cal accused him of... He _had _to know. And yet he didn't want to know, wanting to run far away from the truth, from Jordan, from everything.

Jordan parked the car and came around to his side. He looked at her, and she took his arm, helping him out of the car. "The sooner you know, the sooner you can move on. _Really _move on, not run. If I could do that with my mom's death..."

Woody thought of Max and his tape. He should tell her, but he wouldn't, not now. Let Max deal with that demon. Woody wasn't even capable of facing his own. He couldn't help Jordan with hers. "Maybe you'll get that chance."

"But will you take yours?" she asked. He bit his lip and looked around, finally nodding. He pulled his coat close to him, and Jordan took his arm as they walked into the building. She waited until the elevator doors had closed behind them before sighing and saying, "There is one other thing that you should know."

"Something _else?" _Woody demanded angrily, not sure how much more of this he could take. He was already close to breaking. Again. "Jordan, I swear—"

"I arranged for Cal to be here."

"You did _what?" _

"You're not the only one who needs this answered, Woody. He accused you, and he needs to know that you didn't do it. You owe it to him and yourself," she stopped and corrected herself, shaking her head. "I know, you don't really owe him—you've given him more than he deserves. But regardless of what he's done, he has to know the truth, just like you do."

Woody shot her a dirty look, clenching his fists. It wasn't bad enough that they were going over the murder, but now he had to face his jerk of a brother, too. Damn, this pissed him off. He stalked out of the elevator and towards the restroom, intending to splash water on his face and calm himself down. A part of him was tempted just to leave. He shook his head. He _did _need to do this, but he didn't—couldn't—he just _couldn't. _

The door opened and Woody looked over at Nigel. "They send you to get me?"

"Well, the fireworks should be interesting. I wonder who will snap first. You, Jordan, Max, or cal," Nigel observed dryly.

"Oh, I think I will," Woody muttered as he followed Nigel into the other room. He looked at everyone there slowly. Garret, Lily, Bug, the midget, Max, Jordan, and finally at Cal. Cal glared back at him.

"This is stupid," Cal said. "I know he killed our father. I saw him. He had a knife."

"Cal," Jordan began, about to point out that Warren had been shot.

"Oh, god," Woody heard himself whisper, fighting a growing horror. "It wasn't a dream."


	7. The Bad Seed

**Broken Roots**  
******Chapter Seven: The Bad Seed**  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 2,034  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **Okay, so here's the explanation for what Woody said in the last chapter... I've tried to be vague-ish about certain details, but if anyone thinks this deserves a higher rating for the subject matter, let me know and I will change it.

* * *

******The Bad Seed**

"The nightmare," Woody said softly, his voice full of horror, his eyes closed in a desperate attempt to push back the memories. "It wasn't... It wasn't a dream. It was _real."_

"What nightmare?" Jordan asked gently, taking his hand. He looked at her, unable to stop the shudder. Cal snorted across the room, and Woody wanted to hurt him, to knock some sense into him. He supposed he had proof that his father hadn't touched Cal, now didn't he? Because if he had, then Cal wouldn't be sitting there acting like Woody was the bad guy.

"My father was drunk that night. I know because he... I got used to... I would wake up at the same time every night, didn't matter when I had gone to bed, because he... he went straight into my room when he got home. I would wake up to him..."

_Woody woke up slowly. His room was dark. There was no snoring, no breathing. He was alone. His father must have passed out in the living room. He would have been in here by now if he hadn't. He'd be in the bed. Sometimes he fell asleep before he did anything, but that didn't usually happen. Woody shuddered. He already felt dirty, and his father hadn't even done anything. He couldn't take this._

_They were supposed to go to Milwaukee in the morning. He couldn't do it. He didn't ever want to go back there. Cal was excited. He was going to see his team play again, and it was going to be so good. But Woody knew that he would never make it to the game. He'd be "sick" from the car ride, and he'd have to stay at the motel, and then..._

_No, he wasn't going to do it again. He wouldn't let it happen._

_He got out of bed and walked into the kitchen. He _could _hear his father snoring now, and he knew that if he just... He could end it. All he needed was a knife. He took one from the rack and walked into the living room. All he had to do... He just needed to..._

_He stopped at the edge of the couch, raising the knife._

_He just needed to push the blade down, straight in the heart like if his father was a vampire. He aimed the knife, his hands shaking. Then he lowered it. He couldn't do it. But he _had _to. He didn't _want _to—couldn't take it anymore, the horrible things they did to him..._

_He raised the knife again, and suddenly a hand caught his arm. He stared at his father in horror. "What do you think _you're _doing?"_

"_I..."_

"_You know better than to play with knives, Woody," his father went on, sitting up. Woody tried to pull free, but his father's grip was too tight. He couldn't escape it. He never could._

"_Let's put that away, shall we?" his father went on, standing up and dragging Woody into the kitchen. He held Woody's hand over the counter and forced him to drop the knife. Then he put it back where it belonged._

"_Now, see, you didn't _really _want to kill me, did you?" Warren asked, touching Woody's cheek as he shuddered and started to cry. "No, of course not. You wouldn't do that to your own father..."_

Woody opened his eyes, forcing back the vomit that wanted to come up his throat. He looked at his brother. "That was what you saw, Cal. I didn't touch him. I _couldn't. _I wanted to, but I... couldn't... I never went through with it."

"And that makes it okay?" Cal demanded. "You were going to kill him."

"God, Cal, don't start," Woody said, lowering his head. Jordan pulled him into her arms and held him. He let himself rest there, in the safety of her embrace, taking comfort from her. She loved him, and he didn't deserve it, but she did, and she was here. He needed her, needed her desperately right now. "You saw the knife and ran back into your room, didn't you? You didn't stick around to see me put it back or what he did to me afterwards, did you?"

Cal started to say something, but then he stopped. He looked at Woody for a long moment. "It was you screaming that night, wasn't it? I thought... I guess I thought it was him, but it was you..."

Woody nodded, feeling sick again.

* * *

"Okay, I think we need a round after that one," Max announced. He looked over at the recovering addicts, weighed the decision, and he poured a shot for everyone, leaving them on the table. They could take it if they wanted, or they could leave it where it was. Woody didn't hesitate. He reached for the shot and tossed it back, then collapsed against Jordan again. This was slowly killing him. They had to finish this, and fast.

Garret considered the drink, but he refused it in the end, settling back with a soda instead. He grunted, pulling his coat in an effort to get comfortable again. Cal wanted the drink, it was all over his face, but he made no move towards it. He stared at his brother with a stunned expression, and Max knew that the boy was only now comprehending what his brother had gone through. Jordan and the others took their drinks, downing them as Woody had done.

Max set his own glass, now empty, back on the table. "Let's get this started properly, then, shall we? Woody, can you—"

"I can be myself," Woody whispered. "I don't want to, but I can."

"And you, Cal, you'll have to tell your part, too," Max went on. He looked down at the list they'd created for "parts." There, at the top of the list, was the one that no one wanted: Warren himself. Max looked at the man he considered like a son, and he shook his head.

"Give me the file," Garret said. "I'll be Warren."

Woody shuddered again, and Jordan leaned next to his ear, speaking to him soothingly as she combed through his hair. Max handed Garret the file and took the one of the sheriff for himself. He gave Bug the file for the other unlucky farmer who had been in the store that night. Nigel got the role of the punk accused of the crime, and this time he didn't even protest. Max gave the role of the boys' aunt to Lily, thinking it best if

Jordan didn't have a role other than holding onto the shattered man in her arms.

There was hope for those two yet. And this was just the beginning. Tonight, they'd put Warren to rest, and in a few days, Emily, too. And that would leave two people with the rest of their lives to enjoy. Maybe even time enough for some grandkids...

"How far back are we starting?" Woody asked. "That day, or...?"

"I have a question," Lily began hesitantly. "I know you probably don't want to answer, Woody, but... How much time passed between the night with the knife and the day he died?"

Woody closed his eyes, pained by the memories. "About... four days, I think. I know there was at least two, because he _did _take me—us—to Milwaukee that weekend... That was probably the worst time I was ever there, actually... I... I remember thinking, over and over before he died, that I should have killed him that night... And then he died, and I felt so guilty..."

"Okay, worse question," Nigel said. "And don't answer this if you don't want to, Woodrow, but why was that time the worst? I mean, I guess it's a twisted thought, but wouldn't the first time...?"

Woody shook his head. "Yes, but no... That weekend... He let someone else, some stranger... He took money for it, filmed it for him..."

Max reached for the bottle and poured them another round. Garret looked at the folder he now held with even greater disgust. Nigel looked sick. "That's it, I'm not asking anymore questions."

* * *

"So, let's talk about the day before," Jordan said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen on the room. She'd tried, and they'd tried, but no one could say anything for a while after Woody's last admission. Everyone felt sick, and it looked like they shouldn't have bothered with food because no one wanted to eat, and that would probably last through the whole night. This had to be the worse case they'd ever done, not the most gruesome, but it was still worse than any other.

Woody raised his head. "It was Monday, the day before... I didn't make it to school that day."

"He was sick," Cal added. "Dad told me he was sick."

"I never made it to school after a Milwaukee weekend," Woody said, shaking his head. "The time was short, so they made the most of it... I couldn't hardly move afterwards. So, I didn't go to school. I don't remember much of that day. I slept it off, mostly. I think I remember when Cal got home... He had a problem with his schoolwork, woke me up to help him..."

"Math," Cal muttered with distaste. "I hate math."

Woody smiled faintly, and Jordan found herself kissing his forehead. He would be such an incredible dad. She wanted him to have that chance. He _deserved _that chance. "It was a pretty quiet day, actually. Cal fell asleep in the middle of his homework, which spared me from having to face my father again, and the next thing I remember is the next day."

Max looked over at Garret. "Anything in there about how Warren spent the day before?"

"Minor details on his shift," Garret admitted with a grunt. "Went out on patrol, pulled over a speeder, and came back. Routine and uneventful."

"No, they said... They said that the speeder was probably the same punk that was in the store that night," Woody insisted. He frowned and looked at Cal. "I think."

Cal nodded. "I remember our aunt telling us that... He was just doing his job. And I remember being angry, because he wasn't working that night, but then she told us that he had pulled over the kid the day before, and when the kid recognized him in the store, he went crazy..."

"That was the theory, anyway," Woody shook his head. "They couldn't prove it. The car was different, the kid denied the ticket..."

"If you will allow me, I believe this is _my _part," Nigel interrupted dramatically. He opened his folder with a flourish. "And I quote, 'that stupid pig couldn't have caught me if I was speeding. Stupid Barney Fife. He deserved to get capped, but I didn't do it.'"

Woody grimaced. Jordan kissed his forehead. Cal rolled his eyes. Max smiled to himself. Jordan knew that look of her dad's, and she shook her head. It wasn't that she didn't want the same thing, but she couldn't believe how _open _her father was being about it, almost...smug. She sighed. She still didn't know why he was here. He had been in Boston for a while, too. He hadn't been invited back just for this, and even if he had, he wouldn't have come. No matter how much he liked Woody, this wasn't a big enough pull. She was going to find out what her father was up to after this was finished.

"Okay, so we can't prove that the man accused of killing Warren was the same one that was pulled over the day before, can we?" Lily asked, frowning in confusion.

"Wait a minute," Garret said. He flipped through more paperwork and found the page he was looking for. "Here. It says the id was fake, and Warren took it from the kid. If that's somewhere in all this mess, then maybe the photo would show the killer."

"Maybe," Woody muttered darkly. "But no one ever found that fake id again. I remember looking for it in the evidence myself. It just... vanished."

"Well, now," Nigel said, a smile creeping across his face. "I'd call that suspicious, wouldn't you?"


	8. Snapped Twigs

**Broken Roots**  
******Chapter Eight: Snapped Twigs**  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 2,051  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **I honestly (ooh, um... never mind) but I didn't intend to leave this so long after that last, rather brutal chapter. Sorry. Been down for the count the last few days. Can't say as I'm really back but at least I wrote this.

* * *

******Snapped Twigs**

"Suspicious," Woody agreed quietly. "Doesn't make it true, doesn't prove anything."

"You're a right spoil sport, you know that, Woodrow?" Nigel demanded, watching the other man carefully. They'd all wanted to wrap this up in a nice, tidy package, and it did not seem like that would be the case. They weren't going to finish this tonight, not really, and the longer it went on, the worse Woody looked. Sick to his stomach, sick to his heart, and though Cal had admitted his mistake and was now learning the truth, it was not as helpful as they had hoped. Especially for Jordan. Now, she was doing her best, holding tight to him and taking care of him, but would any of this be enough?

"Nigel, don't forget that I've had a lot longer to deal with my father's death than you have," Woody said, reaching for a drink, this time one without alcohol. The choice was surprising, but admirable. "After it happened, I was lost. I was trying to hold everything together for Cal, because Dad was lingering on in the hospital, and our uncle hadn't come yet, and in the back of my head was this fear that the man from Milwaukee would come and take us... So, I listened; I listened to everyone, everything. I had to know, had to plan. If that man was going to get us, I had to find a way to escape him..."

Woody shuddered, and Nigel imagined that the prospects facing the younger version of the man before them had been dismal, at best. The idea of being in the hands of a monster, or trying to survive on his own, supporting his brother. Or foster care. The "system," the ever-so-flawed system. If a child like Woody had been placed into that failed bureaucracy, it would truly have taken everything that he had left. And then none of them, this hodge-podge family they'd created, would know him.

Nigel cleared his throat. "Okay, granting your expertise, then, let us move on to the fake id again. You said it disappeared. How could that happen?"

"Are we going to start conspiracy theories now?" Dr. Macy asked. "That your 'punk' had some sort of link to the sheriff's department and used that to bury the evidence that he was involved in this killing?"

"Maybe," Nigel conceded. "Someone made that evidence disappear, after all. It didn't walk out on its own. Could have been a mis-file, I suppose, but I'm assuming that Woody thought of that already, didn't you?"

"Yes," Woody answered, leaning against Jordan again. "So, a conspiracy, then? Someone in the department in league a punk? That doesn't make sense. And it doesn't fit. Annie's father was a good man. He wouldn't have done that. He never thought I was good enough for his daughter, but he was friends with my dad. He wouldn't have killed him."

"You think so?" Max asked quietly. "You said he was a good man. But they were friends. So, either he was involved in your dad's sideline, or he'd put a stop to it. You can't tell me that man spent years as your father's friend and never suspected anything."

"He was the sheriff," Woody shook his head. "He could have arrested my father if he knew, and if he was a part of it... I would have known. He wasn't."

"Maybe this conspiracy is simpler than you think," Jordan said softly. "Okay, so our punk is on record as just your typical loser. Deadbeat parents, high school drop out, the works. But what if that was just the act? What if that was the fake id?"

"What, you mean, the punk was _pretending _to be the punk?"

"Yes," Jordan answered with a grin. She put her hands on the side of Woody's face so that he was looking at her. "He wasn't local, right, this punk? And why that convenience store, of all places?"

"Liquor store," Woody corrected. "I don't know, Jordan. Don't ask me to think because I can't any more. I've tried. I'm done."

"Because he wouldn't be recognized then!" Nigel exclaimed. "Oh, you're brilliant, love! We're not really chasing a punk at all. No, and that's what makes it all so simple in the end, doesn't it? I need my computer, and that picture and I think I'll have what we're looking for."

"What?" Cal demanded. "What will you have?"

"Proof. The identity of your father's killer once and for all."

* * *

Woody looked at the computer screen, drinking from the cup, having gone back to the alcohol again. He had tried to stop after the first two, and he'd really wanted to, but the water or soda wasn't enough when all of this was going on. He felt like he was drowning in the memories, in the horror that had been his childhood. All this ideas—conspiracies—theories being tossed around, making his head spin, and he couldn't deal with it anymore. He wanted to run from the room rather than face Cal, but he'd stayed and faced his brother, answered the worst accusations of his life, and now he was spent. Empty of energy and strength. He didn't have anything left.

"That should be coffee," Macy observed, moving that he should stand next to him.

Woody smiled a little as he looked down at the cup. "Coffee wouldn't keep me on my feet, either. I don't know what I'm doing. I know this is supposed to solve it... I just don't know if I can see it through."

"Hang in there, Woody," Macy said, touching his shoulder. He flinched and pulled away. Old, bad habit that he couldn't seem to stop. Well, no, this wasn't that old a habit, and he wasn't going to call it a bad habit. It was a reflex, born of fear, but it wasn't necessarily _bad. _

"Here we go, ladies and gentlemen, hold your applause until the end, and with a drum roll, please," Nigel began, clapping his hands together. "I give you our 'punk,' known then as Jason Rivers. And now, our punk has grown up, taking on the mantle of the family business, the family name, and even the family's political seat, one Gene Perry of Wisconsin."

"That's him?" Cal asked, his voice full of disbelief. "Oh, that _can't _be him. He's too... Too..."

"He's full of it, that's what he is," Max said, putting it succinctly. "Yeah, there's one prize right there. That's one hell of a program you've got, Nigel. Woody, Cal, do you recognize him? Is that really the man accused of killing your father?"

Cal frowned. "I don't... I don't remember. Woody didn't let me see much. He didn't. Always saving me, Woody was. Protecting me. And he was trying to tell me it would be okay somehow, and I wanted to know how... Then our uncle came and said we couldn't go to the trial. Said to stay home, that it was better that way. Guess it was. Wasn't like that trial proved anything."

"Oh, it proved a few things," Bug disagreed. "Just not at the time. It proved that the state didn't look hard enough, even with a good man as the sheriff. It means that Perry's money bought a few people back then and is probably still buying people today."

"But we're not going to let him keep doing that, are we?" Lily asked, shifting the midget in her arms. "We're going to stop him, right?"

"We are, yes," Nigel insisted. He turned with a smile. "I've already booked us a flight. We leave in... oh, an hour? Time to pack our bags!"

"Please tell me that those tickets were first class," Macy muttered under his breath. Woody just shook his head and went back for another drink.

* * *

"I mean it, you can't go in there!" the secretary protested uselessly. Jordan just smiled at her as she was pulled along by Woody's hand. A few hours ago, he'd been completely drained and looking to drown himself in alcohol again, and now, a short nap on a plane and a pot of coffee later, he was marching with a grim determination past the doors and staff of one Gene Perry, right into the man's office, just like the impulsive cop that she had wrapped around her finger for so many years. She liked this. She _really _liked this. It was like everything was coming together again.

"We won't be long, love," Nigel called back over his shoulder. "Just have to have a little chat with an old acquaintance, and when we do, then we'll be off."

"Nigel, shut up," Garret warned. They were all technically breaking and entering, and the police were bound to be called, but that was okay with Jordan because she wanted an audience for their accusations. Maybe they had little proof, just the picture that Nigel had aged, but that was just the start. Because she had a feeling that someone would make the classic villain mistake.

"I'll have you all arrested and sued for this," Gene Perry said, rising from his desk. He looked every bit the millionaire playboy he was. It was hard to think of him as someone who would rob a liquor store and kill a deputy. But he was. It didn't matter how much money was in that suit, how well groomed he was, or if that hair piece was real or not. No, this man was not what he seemed.

"I don't have anything worth taking," Woody said coldly. "Though I imagine you would know that by now. You're a careful man these days, aren't you, Perry? Or should it be Rivers? Rivers was more your true self, wasn't he? You away from Daddy's money and influence. The spoiled kid turned punk... Fitting, really."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Perry shook his head. "You're deluded, and I want you out of my home this minute."

Woody shook his head. "No, you don't. Because you have been sitting on this for years. And what is the fun of getting away with something if no one knows about it? Oh, sure, your father knew, but that wasn't enough because he never approved. But someone who could appreciate it, that's what you've been waiting for all this time. And now you have it. Someone who appreciates what you did."

Cal's mouth dropped open on that one, and Jordan sighed. Cal really didn't know his brother, not in any pretense, not the one he'd worn for years or the one he'd fallen into after regaining his memories. No, she didn't think Cal would ever understand Woody again. Not that he had before, not really.

"You? And what could you possibly appreciate about me or anything I've done?" Perry sneered over at Woody, who smiled again.

"Well, the undeniable truth is that you did me a favor," Woody told him. "Cal doesn't understand that yet, maybe he never will, but I do. I know what I was suffering, and you freed me from it when you killed him. So, I suppose I should say, I owe you for that."

Perry laughed. "You think I don't know what you're doing? I'm not about to confess to anything."

"You don't have to," Woody said, still using that patronizing smile. It was driving the other man nuts, and they could all see it. Jordan couldn't stop smiling herself. He was handling this masterfully. She was so incredibly proud of him right now. And she was going to tell him that later. Tell him and _show _him.

"That's what you came for, isn't it? To get me on tape, saying I did what you think I did," Perry said, shaking his head. "I'm not a fool."

"Oh, no, you're not. You've got money, and you think that it will protect you," Woody told him. He looked at his friends—his family, if he would only accept that now—and grinned. "It won't. The end is coming. Whether you go down for a bribe or murder, your time is done. It's over. I just came to give you notice, that's all."

Perry sputtered indignantly as Woody led them out of the room. Nigel clapped Woody on the back. "Nicely done, Woodrow. Someone's getting laid tonight."


	9. Buried Deep

**Broken Roots**  
******Chapter Nine: Buried Deep**  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 2,185  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **So, I'm sitting here, the infection bothering me and needing more to drink, and I'm getting this ready to post... And I'm drawing a blank as to what exactly I should say here, but I think some kind of warning should be given... What warning, though, is the problem...

* * *

******Buried Deep**

"Every morning should be like this," Jordan said with a slight yawn, stretching across Woody's sleeping form. She had woken up in his arms, his hold was loose, but this was nice, really nice. She reached to touch his face, her finger tracing down his neck and then onto his bare chest. God, he was handsome. And she really could get used to this. She _wanted _to get used to this.

He caught her hand. She looked at him in surprise. His grip was tight, but as soon as he realized it, he let go.

"Stop it, Jordan," he snapped. She could hear him biting back something worse. He closed his eyes with a wince, struggling for control. "I know that I'm... irresistible, but I really don't like to wake up to someone touching me."

She bit her lip. "Oh. Oh, Woody, I'm so sorry. I didn't think of that. I mean, you said that he...but I didn't make that connection—"

"It's okay, Jordan," he assured her quickly, reaching over to put a finger on her lips. "You didn't know. _I _didn't know. I didn't remember. It's... It's new. New and old at the same time. Like almost everything in my life. We're going to have to find these things out as we go. And it's going to take time."

She sat up a little, propping her elbow on the bed and resting her head on her hand. Her hair was a mess, and she could use a shower. Maybe she'd talk him into joining her. Later. Right now, the bed was comfortable. "Just as long as you are willing to find them _with me._"

He sighed, his breathing slow and deliberate. He was still fighting those inner demons, even though she knew that things were better now. "I know that I haven't been very easy to get along with. Especially not lately. The alcohol. The things that I said... I hurt you. Lots of times, over and over. I know they were telling you to leave me, and they were right. You should have left me, kicked me out, done _something _other than stand by me the entire time."

"I'm not going to say that what you did was okay. It wasn't. But I know that you needed me. And I need you. I _love _you," she reminded him, leaning over to kiss him.

He responded immediately, turning the tables on her. He pushed her back against the bed, his mouth covering hers, insistent and passionate. She understood things a bit better now, still learning, of course, but it wasn't hard to figure out that intimacy had to be on his terms if it was going to happen at all. Since she _wanted _it to happen, she was willing to accept it. For now. There was time to change it later.

His hand slid down her stomach, teasing her navel. She giggled. He did that on purpose. It was Littleton village where he'd discovered that particular trigger, and he was just as good at using it now as he had been then. Better, actually.

The phone rang, and Woody cursed loudly as he rolled off of her to answer it. She balled up her fists and pounded the bed in frustration. She did not like interruptions. It was hard enough getting to this point. Everything with Woody was touch and go. Their relationship was healing, getting better by the minute, but he was damaged. He would always be damaged. And she wasn't exactly whole, either.

That didn't explain why she was letting him answer her phone. Or why he wanted to. He hadn't answered the phone in the entire time he'd been back in Boston. He'd refused to carry a cellphone and wouldn't put one in his office. So, why was he answering the phone now, of all times?

Was he _expecting _a call?

* * *

Woody put his legs over the side of the bed as he picked up the phone. He knew that Jordan wasn't happy about it, and he wasn't either. Strange. Well, it wasn't like he _didn't _enjoy what they did. He did. He sometimes felt like he shouldn't. It had been forced upon him, and he was still living with that, still trying to make sense of his childhood, even with his father's murder more or less...resolved.

Still, no one liked interruptions. Least of all him. If he had time to think, the doubts crept in. And he was not good with doubts. "What?"

"You're not Max," the voice said, sounding vaguely familiar. Woody did not like "vaguely familiar" voices. Or vaguely familiar anything, really. It was all part of losing his memory and getting it back. That familiarity tormented him.

"No, I'm not," Woody agreed. "Who are you?"

"I thought Max said his _daughter's _name was Jordan," the voice went on. "Never met her, course. He didn't like me meeting his family. Didn't bring the job home."

"I'm not his daughter, either," Woody said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, Max did, once, admit to having a son, but then he said that son was dead," the other man went on, his voice driving Woody crazy.

"I'm not his son, but I suppose I'm close enough to it," he ran a hand over his face and rose to his feet, leaving the room. Jordan watched him; he could feel her eyes on his back. He went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He thought for a moment. "Wait. Boxer. You're Boxer, aren't you?"

"And you're Max's young pup?" the voice was incredulous. "What are you doing with Max's daughter? Oh... Oh. I get it. Close enough to being his son. Okay, then. Look, Max didn't leave me any way to contact him. I had to look up his daughter and hope for the best."

"This is about the film, isn't it? Were you able to restore it?"

"I was. Get Max and come down to my shop," Boxer said and hung up. Woody cursed loudly. He didn't know how to get a hold of Max, either. And now he had to find a way out of the apartment without Jordan following him. She was bound to follow him. She was going to be curious about the phone call, and for some reason, he didn't feel like explaining it to her. He wasn't going to take her with him.

He went back into the bedroom. Jordan had gotten up as well, and she had gone so far as to get dressed. She waited for him, hands folded over her chest. "Who was that?"

He shook his head. "You're not coming with me."

"We can do this the easy way, where you tell me what is going on, include me in whatever is going on, or we can do this the hard way, where you run off and I follow you, and I really think that we've been doing well lately. We're on a roll. Yeah. So we should stick with that, and you should just tell me," she nodded as she finished, and he shook his head. It occurred to him to curse the day he'd met her and gotten involved with the Cavanaugh family in all its extensions, and he did.

"We are not doing it either way," he told her. "You have a job. I have... I have a desk in a little room that no one ever visits. But you're going to do your job, and I might stop into see if the desk is still there, and that's where it ends, Jordan. Because this... You say we've made progress. Don't throw it all away by giving me ultimatums."

"Yeah, I know. Tell you to do something, and you'll do the opposite," she muttered, shaking her head. She was frustrated, and it showed. She raked a hand through her hair. "Please, don't shut me out. I don't know what's going on, and maybe, in the end, I won't want to know, but that doesn't matter."

"Jordan, you went behind my back so many times when I was on the force. Don't say anything about how I should trust you. Just... don't," he said, grabbing one of his shirts and pulling it on over his shoulders. He started buttoning it up, and she crossed to him taking his hands and holding them still.

"Okay, let's not make this about trust. Not about us," she said, leaning up to kiss him. "But I don't want you to go alone. I really don't. Please. Woody. Take me with you."

He cursed. He cursed loudly and angrily. "Damn it. I don't know how this always happens, but—"

She smiled, turning away to grab his coat and toss it to him. He'd lost again. He usually did when it came to her. And he supposed that she deserved to know. This was about her mother, after all.

* * *

"Where's Max?" Boxer demanded as soon as they entered the shop. Woody glared at him while Jordan looked around the shop with fascination. She seemed to be going through everything that Woody had when he first walked into this place. He was amused by it, and yet at the same time he wasn't.

"You know Max. He didn't leave a number," Woody answered. He folded his arms over his chest and looked at the other man. "What did you find?"

"The film wasn't as old as Max thought it was. He said it was about his wife's murder, right? But it couldn't have been. It was too new for that. Still old, but not twenty years worth of old," Boxer explained. "And, frankly, while this film is a crime, it's not what he was hoping for."

Jordan's arm connected with Woody's chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. "What the hell were you thinking? You knew that my dad had something that he thought would solve my mom's murder, and you didn't tell me? Woody, what the... I thought we... Damn you."

He shrugged. "I haven't told you everything, and you don't want to know it. So hate me if you want, Jordan. I've given you plenty of reasons. But I did actually keep my promise to Max. I didn't tell you about this because he asked me not to. No, that's no excuse. It's not even a good reason. But as Boxer just told you, it wasn't what Max thought it was."

"It isn't fair," she whispered. "We were able to look at your father's files. We were able to give you that peace. Why can't we do that for me? Why can't I know what happened?"

"Jordan, we kind of always knew what happened to my father," Woody shook his head. "It got confused in Cal's mind, but it didn't change much. The killer hid his identity, that's all. And I'm not saying that you don't deserve to know. Because you do. But if the answer was easy, we would already know what it was."

He shuddered. She looked at him, her anger forgotten temporarily. "What is it?"

He swallowed, forcing back the taste in his mouth. He felt kind sick, the way he did every time he touched on a memory from his less than pleasant childhood. "Something my father used to say to me. I reworded it, but when I said it just now... He used to... When I asked him 'why,' he told me not to ask questions because the answers were easy and I already knew what they were."

"You're kidding," Boxer interrupted. "Or you're lying. You sure you never opened that film before? Never watched it? You didn't put it there for Max to find, you're not playing some sort of game, are you?"

"The hell are you talking about?" Woody demanded. "What the hell is on that film?"

"Woody wouldn't do that," Jordan protested. "He didn't even know about my mom's death until six years ago. Until after he knew me. And why would he put the film there? He doesn't have any reason to do that. I think you better tell us what is on that film."

Boxer shook his head. "My god. Your eyes... Those... Here, come with me."

He led them into a back room, filled with more clutter that had been shoved aside to make space for the screen and projector that now stood in the middle. Boxer went to the projector, switching it on, and Woody found himself backing into Jordan as he tried to get out of the room, to get away from that flickering image. He shook his head, distantly aware that he was saying something, but he didn't know what he was saying, couldn't hear it.

Boxer shut the projector off. "You know what that was, then."

"It doesn't make sense," Woody said. "I know what you said, that the film wasn't old enough to be from Emily's murder, and you're right, but why would that be... No."

"Woody, I don't want to ask this, I don't," Jordan began, "but... That film... It's one of yours. One of the ones your father made... Of you, right?"


	10. A Final Pruning

**Broken Roots**  
******Chapter Ten: A Final Pruning**  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 2,286  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **Okay, this is it. There's an epilogue left, and I'm done. Yeah, think that's about all I have to say now.

* * *

******A Final Pruning**

"Boxer!" Max's voice echoed through the shop. Jordan looked up from where she held a quiet but shaking Woody, who had so far been unable to answer her. She turned to Boxer, who quickly left the room. She reached to touch Woody's cheek.

"Woody, I... I'm sorry," she said. She knew none of this was her fault. It really wasn't. It wasn't his fault, either. It was one big, twisted rotten mess, and none of it was fair to any of them. It still didn't make sense, not to her, but she was afraid that it did make sense to Woody. He was the one with the answers. Again.

"Not your fault, and I've told you before, you didn't deserve any of what I've put you through," he told her quietly. "Go find them. I think it's all coming together now."

"You could just tell me, you know," she muttered, shaking her head. Oh, if only it was that easy. Not just for her, but for him. He was in a lot of pain, again, and it seemed like there was something out there, some sort of malevolent force that didn't want him to be happy. Jordan refused to believe that. It couldn't be true, and even if it was, she wouldn't let it win.

"I don't want to repeat myself, Jordan, please," he said, and she nodded, giving his hand a squeeze. She rose, walking to the door and out to the front where Boxer and her father were talking. They looked at her and stopped.

She folded her arms over her chest and glared at them. "You may as well tell me. I'm sick of this. Secrets. Promises. I should know better, but I can't believe you asked Woody not to tell anyone. Well, me. You told him not to tell _me. _And I shouldn't forgive either of you for that."

"Jordan, it was just—"

"It was you being you," she said coldly. "What Woody did is another matter, and we'll deal with that in time. But I know enough to fill in a few blanks for myself. First, I know that the film was something that should have solved my mom's murder. I'm not sure where you got it, but I know you brought it here for Boxer to fix up. Second, I know that what he found surprised _and _disgusted him, so it's not what you were expecting. And third, I know that Woody knows more, and he can put the final pieces into place."

She turned and walked back to Woody. He had picked himself up, and he was studying the film in the projector like he was ready to rip it out and burn it, destroy it. "Don't. I know what it is, what that means for you, but please... Just leave it alone."

Woody sighed. "Fine. They coming?"

She nodded again. "Yeah. They are. I think. And don't think we won't have to have a long talk after all of this. We haven't worked everything out, and you know it as well as I do."

"Years and years of penance," he muttered. He spun the reel a little and looked at the doorway again. Max and Boxer came in, Boxer behind the other man. This was a family matter. And she knew that Woody would rather that Max's old friend was not a part of this at all. They both knew that Boxer had seen the film, and that was something that Woody hated knowing, that his humiliation and torment had been witnessed by many, many people, and he would never have peace of mind where that was concerned.

"So... Boxer here tells me that this film isn't what I hoped for, and Jordan said the same thing. So, kid, what do you know? I need to know. Jordan needs to know," Max insisted.

"Of course you do. Always needing to know, whatever the cost," Woody agreed bitterly.

* * *

"Woody?" Jordan prompted gently. It didn't matter. There was no way to make this better or easy or anything of the sort. It didn't work that way, not after what he had been through. He knew that. And she knew it, too. Why they kept trying was a mystery to him. He knew better. He should have stopped years ago.

"It makes a twisted sort of sense," he began, laughing without humor. He shook his head. Jordan and Max opened their mouths to speak, but he held up a hand. "Just let me get this out, please. I know, I'm rambling and taking too long, but I need to do this my way. I don't know how else to get the words out."

He took a deep breath and studied his fingers carefully for a moment. "Malden, it's easy to assume, was a dirty cop, along with my father, Rumos, and Montelli. I don't have any proof that Malden was involved in the ring—not really. Thinking back to my last conversation with the man, I don't really like the implication of his words about watching me. Still..."

Woody wasn't the only one to shudder at those words, but he moved on. "James had the key to this box. I believe that he may have switched this film with the one that was in there. If there _was _a film in there. I think there might have been, and that he might have been on it, but I can't prove that. And I don't know how he got a hold of that film in particular because there was only one made. The weekend before my father's death—they filmed it and that man, whoever the hell he was, got the only copy.

"I'm not sure if James was being malicious or helpful when he did it. Obviously, if he followed you, Jordan, he knew about me, and he knew that I was the one on the film. Maybe he did it to hurt. Maybe not. But he did get a hold of something rare. Very rare," Woody pushed the memories of that film out of his mind, refusing to dwell on that day.

"If the ring was operating in Boston then, Malden was involved. Maybe not directly, not in the filming or the rest, but he got his share of the profits for his silence. If Malden was getting paid off, then he and a lot of other very important people had a _lot _to lose when their sideline was discovered," Woody finished, looking over at Jordan and Max.

"So," Jordan said quietly, "You think my mother found out?"

"Yes," Woody agreed. "A phone call, a meeting that wasn't as private as they thought it was... Your mother was paranoid. She might have seen or heard very little, but her mind could have... She might have been paranoid for good reason. If Malden was in it for more than money, maybe James being warped might have reasons that we hadn't considered before."

"But this doesn't fix it. It's a theory, a good one, but there's still loose ends, no proof..."

"We have that film," Woody had been hoping it wouldn't come to this. But Jordan needed this settled, like he had needed his father's death settled. "Someone directed that man to my father. And if he is still alive, then he knows who did. And we still know where Rumos is, if we need to talk to him. We just have to lean on the right person. Not that hard."

* * *

"So, we're coming full circle, are we, Hoyt?" Rumos demanded as he came into his house. Woody had broken in, and he knew that it meant that whatever evidence he got wasn't admissible in court, but this wasn't for court. This was for Jordan. He'd let her take the man on the film. If he left out that he thought Rumos would know better than the rich man who had been on the film, it was a small lie, and he didn't deserve to be forgiven for the others. He didn't want to be forgiven, but Jordan just kept on doing it. That was love. Loyal and stupid.

"I don't know about that," Woody admitted. "Full circle would have you being in a position that no one should ever be in, and me in a place that I would never be. So, no, not full circle. But I've considered many times how best to get revenge—though in my case, isn't it really _vengence?—_from you. I have to admit, I enjoyed planning them out."

"We're not so very different, you and me, Hoyt," Rumos said, sitting down on the couch. "But then, you're still a coward, so you're not here to hurt me. What do you want?"

"To know if a man named Malden got a share in your profits, and to know what really happened to Emily Cavanaugh. Why was she killed? Because she found out about this nasty sideline of everyone's, or something else? Something completely unrelated?"

"Why should I tell you anything, Hoyt? I gave those names you wanted, and I thought we were done. I'm not about to involve myself in a murder," Rumos leaned back in the chair, smiling smugly. Woody suppressed a shudder. He knew that look. And he hated it.

"Let's talk about Morgan Slade, shall we?" Woody asked. "You do remember Mr. Slade, don't you? I can't really forget him, seeing as how I had that visit from him just before Dad died."

Rumos' smile didn't falter, but there was a harder edge to his voice now. Good. Maybe that was just the bit of fear that he needed. "What about Slade?"

"Technically, I shouldn't know who he is, should I? But I do. And I'm not the only one. So, let's talk about Slade. Was he a frequent customer? How many others did you sell out to?" Woody sighed. This would be a lot easier if he just gave up on the rules. "Here's the thing, Rumos. I know you didn't kill Emily. You may be one sick bastard, but you're not a killer. You left that to others. And your end of the line didn't deal with too many deaths, did they? Because you had my father, didn't you? Look, I'll admit that I want you to suffer. A lot. You deserve to. But for her sake, I want to know about Emily's death."

"Oh, and the things I could ask of you for that information," Rumos said, making Woody's skin crawl. "You'd give them, too, for her, wouldn't you?"

"Are you going to tell me what you know or not?" Woody demanded, betrayed by his own voice. He heard the revulsion and disgust in it, and the fear.

"I am. Call it a gift, Hoyt. I don't owe you anything, that's for sure," Rumos said, getting to his feet. He crossed the room, and Woody rose instinctively, reaching for the gun he'd brought as insurance. It galled him how much this man still frightened him, even after their last confrontation. He had been better after the last time, and he didn't really consider this a set back, but it sure wasn't pleasant.

He refused to tell Rumos to back off. He wouldn't give the pig that satisifaction. "You don't give gifts. At least not the kind that anyone _wants." _

Rumos laughed. He leaned over Woody; his breath hot and rancid in his ear. "You're right, Hoyt. Malden wanted kickbacks. He wanted this kept quiet, squeaky clean. And then that man Jeffers interfered. He wasn't supposed to go after the boy. Good grief, I was already working that angle. A few well placed words to your father worked rather well, don't you think? But Jeffers was greedy. Oh, he didn't want the boy for himself, not to use, but to let someone else do the dirty work, he was okay with that as long as it got him a profit."

"So, who did it, then? Who killed Emily? Jeffers? Malden?" Woody asked, doing his best not to shudder or panic. He wanted to shove the bastard away from him, but he couldn't. Couldn't give into that fear. Not now.

"The Cavanaugh woman was a casualty of war," Rumos said, reaching out to touch him. Woody jerked back, and the other man smiled at his reaction. "But it's a simple fix, you know. Malden did it. With Emily died proof of James' paternity. Jeffers was supposed to get him as a consolation prize. No more questions. James would just...disappear. I think you can guess where."

"Yeah, I know," Woody agreed quietly. "How do you know all of this, anyway?"

"Oh, the usual," Rumos answered with a grin. "I made it all up."

"Yeah," Woody said. "I knew that, too. Let's go with the truth this time, huh? Malden found out about your little enterprise. He wanted money. So did his partner, Jeffers. You found out about Malden's son, a perfect little specimen for your games. Unwanted by his adoptive parents, the real mother was somewhat psychotic, the man who believed he was his father had given him away, and Malden couldn't afford to acknowledge him. So, you egged Jeffers into going after James. But Emily messed with your plans. Suddenly, Jeffers was dead, and James was gone, and you knew because you were watching. Then you had to act. You killed her, didn't you?"

"You are so... Damn, you're good," Rumos laughed. "I've told you that before, haven't I? Well, you're right. It's all of it true. But if your friends out there think they've won, they're wrong."

"It was never about winning," Woody told him as he shoved the piece of filth off. "It was about knowing the truth."


	11. The New Seedling

**Broken Roots**  
******Epilogue: The New Seedling**  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 551  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan

**Author's Note:** I have enjoyed this particular series, despite its dark nature and unpleasant concepts. I really wanted to be able to explore the life of someone who had broken the way that I had Woody break in this series. Of course, what everyone really wants for that kind of damage is for it to be fixed. Somethings, I think, really can't be fixed. So I'm not really going to spend anymore time trying. I think I've taken the characters to a point where moving on is really possible, but I'm not going "happy ever after" because it's unrealistic. There's hope. That's as good as it gets.

* * *

******The New Seedling**

"So," Woody began, getting down on his knees and running a hand over her stomach gently, awe in his face and his fingers, "you're telling me there's a mini midget in there."

Jordan looked down at him, tears and laughter warring over her. She wasn't sure what his reaction to her news would be, and she had been afraid, actually. He had been back for a long time, but there was still a part of her that feared that he would leave. This was just the type of thing that would send her running. Why not him?

She ran a hand through his hair. "We're not calling our child a midget."

"No, of course not," he agreed readily, too easily. She looked at him suspiciously, but he was still running his hands over her stomach like it was some kind of treasure, a rare and precious gift. Maybe it was. She bit her lip. She was not going to give into that pregnant woman myth. She would not be ruled by her hormones.

Well, maybe a little...

"Midget is Maddie's nickname," Woody went on. "Our child gets its own nickname. Even if it is a midget."

Jordan cuffed the back of his head, and he glared up at her, his fascination with her stomach suddenly forgotten. "What was that for?"

"You called our child an 'it.'"

He stood, folding his arms over his chest and pouting. Oh, he was definitely pouting. "Jordan, we don't know the sex yet. I have every right to call it an it at this point. Or would you rather I go around calling it 'he'? Though, I think I'd rather have a girl, all things considered..."

Looking at Woody like that, she forgot to be angry. Or even the slightest bit upset. "I... I just want her 'cause she's yours."

"Ours," he corrected immediately, closing his mouth over hers. "Ours."

She nodded. They'd been through so much, both of them, grown and changed, and things were not perfect, but they were good. Really good. The past was behind them. It really was. _And this_, she thought, her hand on her stomach, _this is the future. Our future._

She stopped, pulling back from his embrace. That wasn't easy. He was kissing her senseless and she really didn't want that to stop, but it was hard, after everything, not to be a little insecure about this. She put her hands on both sides of his face, looking into his eyes. "Are you sure about this? Really sure?"

He closed his eyes. "If by sure, you mean scared shitless, then yes, I'm sure."

She laughed with him for a moment. He was right. This was a frightening concept. Parenthood. She kissed his cheek, and he pulled her into his arms again. "It won't be easy. Because we are who we are. We're screwed up, me way more than you, and this is going to be one hell of an uphill battle, but I figure if we made it through the rest of that, and we shouldn't have, as I keep reminding you—you should have left me—then we can make it through this."

She closed her eyes, feeling safe in his hold. "Not easy."

"Not for us," he agreed. "But worth it. Worth every damn minute of it."


End file.
